


Stranger Things Have Happened Here

by MirkwoodCheshire



Series: The Battle and its Warriors [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: An Unexpected Journey, But also sorta more, Elves, Elves are fricking awesome, Female Reader, Friendship, Gen, Gotta love our sassy Elvenking, J.R.R Tolkien - Freeform, Mirkwood, Reader Insert, The Hobbit - Freeform, Tolkien, Work also posted on Quotev, battle of the five armies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 02:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14009856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirkwoodCheshire/pseuds/MirkwoodCheshire
Summary: As an Elven warrior under King Thranduil, you've seen a lot of strange things. You've seen great battles over small things, odd creatures that look terrible but aren't, and creatures that look harmless but are deadlier than all your people. You've seen your king get drunk, helped him from the dining hall, seen his son grow up and do the same, and indeed, helped him the same. But never had you seen anything quiet as strange as the time the Dwarves escaped, and the battle that followed several moons after.





	Stranger Things Have Happened Here

**Author's Note:**

> This is also posted on Quotev, under the same title.

As an Elven warrior and Captain under Elvenking Thranduil, you've seen a lot of strange things. You've seen great battles over small things, odd creatures that look terrible but really aren't, and creatures that look harmless but are deadlier than all the army of your people. You've seen your king get drunk, helped him from the dining hall, seen his son grow up and do the same, and indeed, helped him the same. But never had you seen anything quiet as strange as the time the Dwarves escaped, and the battle that followed several moons after.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Whispers ran through the palace like wildfire- rumours of Dwarves, and of their king and company. It reached the pointed ears of the chefs, the gardeners, the warriors, and finally you, the Elvenking's most trusted Captain, guard and lifelong friend, known for mentoring some of the Mirkwood's finest warriors. That is how the stories reached your ears- in training, an Elvish style game of Capture the Flag. Two of the younger warriors-in-training were gossiping in the corner instead of guarding their position, allowing the opposition to slip past and win. Given that the two normally were the best two in that particular class, it made you slightly suspicious. So, you decided to question them.

"And what would be so important that Capture the Flag, one of your favourite pastimes, should be passed up in favour of gossiping?" You stood beside the arch that was the exit for the training ground, raising an eyebrow at the two students. Tiror and Alaxinor looked sheepish, but excited.

"The Dwarves, Captain Y/N. We were wondering if the rumours were true- that Thorin Oakenshield was among them." You furrowed your brow.

"Dwarves? What do you speak of, Tiror? I have heard no such thing." The pair looked suprised, before Alaxinor thought of something.

"I believe they arrived earlier today, Captain. One of the patrols found them, roughly thirteen of them I believe, caught in the spiders' webs. The Prince accompanied the patrol, as did the Captain. Were you not with them?" You hummed thoughtfully. Where were you then?

"No. I was hunting spiders all this morning, but a solo trip. Very well. Next time, please save your gossip for after class. You are dismissed." The two exchanged thankful and slightly amused glances.

"Thank you, Captain. And, ah, I believe the Elvenking is speaking to one now, if you should wish to..."

"Yes, thank you, Tiror, mischievous Elfling that you are. Go, before I decide you could be put to use sweeping the training area!" Tiror mocked offence, but scurried away after his friend, who was tackling his sister, when you waved a broom at him playfully, nearly bumping into an amused Tauriel as she passed. You waved at your friend and fellow Captain, and hummed again, slipping quietly into the lyrics of an Elvish song as you thought. Dwarves? It had been many a year since a master of stone walked Mirkwood's halls. This you had to see. Also, perhaps try and stop the Elvenking from slaughtering them... The beings really do have a talent for annoying him...

Slipping your prefered weapon of dual knives into your belt, you began making your way to the throne room.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Upon arrival at your destination, you were just in time to see the king's scar. It did not shock you- you had been beside him as he gained it, had your own concealed over your left arm, stretching partway down your side. You had trained under his father's rule, and grown up as Thranduil did, fought the battles he had. That is possibly why the Elvenking welcomed you to his side with a nod, before once more turning his cold gaze to the Dwarf before him. As you stood beside his throne, you watched the Dwarf curiously, although you did not show it. Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror turned his gaze to you briefly, snorting in disgust and turning to the Elvenking again. What an honour, you thought sarcastically, to have Thorin son of Thrain dismiss you. How little you honestly cared.

You watched the last of the exchange between the two- and how interesting to watch it was. Then Thorin was sent to the dungeons, and out of sight, although not out of mind. The Elvenking sighed wearily as soon as you were 'alone', and you set a cautious hand on his arm. Thranduil turned to you and eyed you consideringly, perhaps wondering if he should imprison you for daring to touch him- indeed, several of the guards stiffened and looked slightly wary. But then he turned away again, neither encouraging nor shrugging off your touch, and the guards relaxed. You watched his expression calmly, knowing what the jewels in that mountain meant to him. The jewels of his late wife, mother of his much beloved son Legolas. Although, the Elvenking was growing ever colder in the heart lately. You stood by him in silence, waiting for him to speak. And finally, he did.

"Y/N." You stood straighter.

"Yes, My Lord?" He stood for a few seconds, before once more elegantly descending from his throne.

"What of our army's progress? Could we chance this battle?" You thought carefully on your answer.

"Yes, easily we could, my Lord, but... Is it really worth the blood that would be spilled? Even with the great forces of the people, still many would die. I understand these jewels mean much to you, but surely the people's sacrifice would not be worth it." The Elvenking paused and turned to you, and for just a second, the corner of his mouth turned up in a small, sad smile.

"It really all depends, doesn't it?" He didn't specify what. "You are a good friend, Y/N. I value your council greatly. But you think too much, mellon nin." He walked to the edge of the platform, gazing down at the proceedings below of the festival, the Feast under Stars. You followed to stand beside him, watching as the people below you prepared to celebrate, none the wiser of what was to come.

"For tonight, we think of other, more pleasant things. But when dawn comes, two days from now, we prepare for war."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The next morning, you woke to shouts, and Legolas shaking you awake.

"Y/N! The Dwarves- they have escaped! We must go after them!" You were instantly alert, slipping from the covers in your silken nightgown. The Prince averted his eyes as you strode around your room, one hand gathering your garments and weapons, the other working your hair into simple braids.

"How so, my prince?" He passed you your knives, still looking away.

"The empty wine-barrels that go down to Laketown via the cellar exit. They are inside the boundaries still, just about to pass the gates. We have sent a messenger, but do not know if he will get there in time. Orcs are also nearby- one of the spider-hunting parties found recent tracks." Well. How clever. But how did they get the keys? Finished dressing, you put the last tie in your waist length hair and followed Legolas from the room.

"Come, Y/N, we must follow the river down!" You paused and carefully studied the river's swift flow. If the Dwarves escaped at dawn, and the sun was just above the horizon, then... You shook your head, moving in a different direction.

"No, my prince, it would be faster this way." He didn't question you, following instantly, along with several others. You were known for your skills in tracking, whether by trail or estimation. With the river's current rate and the time since dawn, it would be much faster taking a short cut you knew of.

When you arrived at the river's edge, precisely where you had planned, the Dwarves were just ahead. If you had gone the way the patrol had planned, you would have lost them for certain. Instantly you started running after the barrels and their cargo, only to dodge an arrow- an Orc arrow. You hissed an Elvish curse then slipped just behind the tree line, followed by your companions who easily kept pace. Dodging arrows and killing the occasional Orc that had strayed to your side of the river, you fast approached the gates. You were just in time to see them close, and watched as Elves swiftly converged towards the Dwarves, as did Orcs.

Despite the circumstances, you had to laugh when you saw the escapees clearly, gaining a few odd looks from your companions- they looked quiet ridiculous, soaked through and squashed into the barrels. Although you could swear there was one who wasn't there before- you were told there was thirteen Dwarves, but you counted fourteen heads. But you were swiftly distracted as Orcs swarmed over the river, attacking both Elves and Dwarves.

The Dwarves had sprung the gates- that much you knew. Now you followed as swiftly as possible. Dodging Orcs, you spotted one of the foul creatures, leaning from the bank, about to behead an unsuspecting Thorin. For some reason unknown to you, you drew a knife and threw it, watching in satisfation as the creature's head fell. The Dwarf spun around, just in time for its head to bounce off the edge of his barrel. A second later, and he would be dead. Thorin snatched its weapon and plunged it into one of the deceased creature's brethren, and grabbed your own knife from where it embedded itself in his barrel's rim. Then he turned, and narrowed his eyes at you, an ethereal beauty standing stone-still on the bank, watching him expressionlessly, your second knife clutched in your fist, twin to the one he held. Right before he was swept around a corner. You sighed, knowing the Rapids ahead would likely kill them. Turning, you wondered briefly why you saved him, before dismissing it as instinct to save a soul in need. That description of Thorin made you snort in amusement as you leapt back into battle, side by side with Alaxinor and his sister.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Time skip to Battle of the Five Armies

 

It had been several moon-cycles since the Dwarves escaped, but now that was the last thing on your mind. For the next day, the Bowman would speak with the King under the Mountain. Smaug was dead, destroyed, curled in an eternal sleep among the ruins of Laketown, below the chilling, icy water of the Lake. But now another guarded the treasure of Erebor with the same jealousy and hatred as the great Dragon- and it was not one you'd expected. Even though you'd never spoken to Thorin, you had always thought he was one of honour and truth- but apparently not. Even the small Hobbit ran from him now, betrayed his trust from fear of what he had become. The Arkenstone was now in the possession of your King and the Bowman of Laketown- or what once was Laketown. Perhaps they could reason, could prevent this senseless war over lumps of metal. How could something be worth so much, that towns should be destroyed and war be fought, yet have such little purpose? Gold is soft, no good for weapons of war nor practical use. Diamonds are pretty, and strong, but no blade can be forged from them unless they are of unusually large size. Silver has some use, but the contents of that mountain is not such- instead it is useless metals and stones. Sentimental value, that is why the Elvenking was going to war over small jewels. But what sentimental value does all that treasure have to Thorin son of Thrain? That is what you pondered as you stood guard outside Thranduil's tent.

The ruins of Dale looked so different to daytime by moonlight. You hummed softly as you gazed out over the old city, absently sharpening your blades. Across from you, you can just make out the forms of two Elvish guards patrolling the rooftops- a pair under your command, the infamous Alaxinor and his sister Arkadya, sharpening their knives as they watch over the city.

In the faint light of the moon, you could almost imagine the city was still standing tall and proud, unshakable on the hill. The moonlight spun towers of soft silver light, filled in broken walls, painted shimmering grey flags baring the city's symbol against the midnight sky. Twisting beams of light became the faint outlines of people- archers standing along the wall, gazing out towards Erebor, then children, running along the streets. Silver warriors bustled along the walls, silently brushing past you, bumping into you, but you felt nothing. Traders and merchants lined the street, and the folk of the city bustled along, inspecting and buying the wares of the traders. But then the tent flap rustled and the spell was broken, leaving the ruins of the city behind. You blinked, then sighed, disappointed that the serene, happy city should be replaced with this still, mournful place, still serene but in all the wrong ways. But at the same time, you felt slight relief that the ghosts were gone. Turning with a slight frown to see what disturbed you from the stunning moonlit mirage, you opened your mouth then shut it at the sight of the Elvenking. You slid your knives into their sheaths, and returned your miniature whetstone to its pouch, turning your attention to the ethereal being beside you. Thranduil gazed out towards the mountain, as still as stone. You wondered if he saw the same images you did, that dream of what once was. The grey light shone on his smooth, pale skin, turning him into one of the silver warriors of the battlements that you saw before. It was slightly disconcerting, seeing your king, normally so solid, aloof and cold, that is true, but still so there, turned into one of the ghosts of Dale. It was enough that you reached out and brushed your fingers against his sleeve, taking comfort in the silken fabric, so very real. He turned to you and surveyed you.

"You see it too?" His soft whisper was barely there, but still a shock from the silence. You turned to him again.

"See what, my Lord?" He turned back to the ruins, cold, brilliant eyes glimmering in the light.

"The city. The ruins... The moonlight. Taking this place, twisting it and bewitching it... Turning it to what it once was." You nodded.

"Yes. I thought... I thought it was only me." He shook his head, a soft, bitter smile on his face.

"And I thought it was only me. But in your face then, I knew you could see it." You sighed. Brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, you hummed.

"It is- disturbing, to see it so clearly, so near, yet for it to be so distant. It makes me wonder... What did these people go through? They seem so peaceful... For it to so suddenly vanish... Gone in a single breath of the Dragon. It makes me realise how lucky I am, how lucky we are." The Elvenking bowed his head, his long, slender fingers brushing against his cheek where the Dragon had burned him.

"Indeed." He turned to you, hesitantly reaching out, brushing his hand against yours. You glanced at him, and he breathed out. "The light turns you to silver, Y/N. A mirage of Dale." He smiled suddenly, a genuine smile, so unlike his normal wry smirk. "You look stunning. It is an odd image, to see warm beauty become cold." You laughed softly.

"As do you, my Lord, but as ever, and indeed it is most unnerving." Stepping closer to the edge that you stood on, you breathed in the cool air. "This light makes everything look better yet worse in a queer way- softens harsh edges, warms coolness with cool light. Turns brightness to dark..." You felt Thranduil step up beside you once more, a fold of his robe slithering over the edge to wave softly in the breeze.

"You are my friend, Y/N. Do not speak to me as your superior. You have been through just as much as me, if not more." You bowed your head.

"Thank you... Thranduil. I am glad that I am your friend." He nodded once.

"And I am glad you are mine. It is late, mellon nin. Get some rest, for tomorrow you shall need your strength."

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

When you woke in the morning, it was only just light, yet the ruined city was bustling. The folk of Laketown were preparing to fight or to flee, the Elven warriors finishing sharpening their blades, polishing their armour and other such preparations. The Bowman, Bard, stood near Thranduil, bidding his children goodbye. You checked your last braid, tying it with a small strip of leather, and began to put on your armour. The elaborate pieces of metal clicked into place, secured with leather that you just managed to tie, and other pieces of metal carefully fashioned to hold together. You slid your knives into sheaths crossed on you back, and checked that your backup blades remained secure, tied on your legs within easy reach. Then you turned and checked the saddle of your horse, Anor. As the only remaining Captain of Thranduil, Tauriel being banished, you were to ride beside the Elvenking onto the battlefield, him on his great Elk and you on Anor. Bard would ride beside the two of you, to speak with Thorin. If the King under the Mountain refused to listen to reason, then you would begin battle.

 

You watched in horror as Thorin threatened the little Hobbit, hanging his head over the edge of the stone wall he had built overnight. Gripping Anor's reigns tightly, you prepared to ride and attempt to save him, only for Thranduil to set an armour-clad hand on your equally armoured arm. You cast a horrified look at him, that he should try and prevent you from saving the Halfling, only to relax when Thorin cast Bilbo back behind him, snarling down at your people in disgust. His gaze met yours for a split second, and in that time frame, the cold, goldsick mask broke, but then it returned tenfold with fury and hatred.

 

A shadow came over you as another army approached, a Dwarven army, near equal in size to the army of Elves. Their leader, Dáin, greeted Thranduil with mocking politeness, making small talk as if a war was not near. He spoke to you with equal disdain. But then another sound met your sensitive ears, one of another army- an army of darkness. And so as the Dwarves wheeled round to meet this new threat, you hollered orders of your own, only stopping to meet Thranduil's gaze in desperate hope that he would confirm your orders. And, with a slow nod, he did, and your own army sprung into action, fighting beside lifelong enemies as if they grew up training together.

 

You danced through the enemy with incredible grace, wielding your blades with deadly precision. Anor was killed, and you knew you would mourn the loss of a loyal friend after this battle- if there was an after. Perhaps you would follow your steed to a better place, but you hoped not.

 

Many an Orc had fallen beneath your blade, and many more would. But this army seemed never-ending, one of the foul creatures replaced by three more. Then you saw your people retreating, making for the ruins of Dale, chased after by creatures of the shadows. Beheading another of the foul beings, you ran after them, stabbing the Orcs that you passed.

 

No refuge was found in the ruins. The peaceful moonlit spectre city of the night before was replaced with chaos, with screams and terror. News passed from ally to ally, of another army, one of darkness greater than the opponents you faced at the time. And from another side it approached, the new savages to face off against your already weary and dwindling army of Elves and Dwarves and Men, enemies forced to fight as allies.

 

The sky filled with screeches, not of horror but triumph, not human but beast- bird, not beast. A figure, falling through the air, shifting and transforming to a great, black bear, landing on four great clawed paws, snapping and snarling. Eagles, filling the sky, swooping through the army, snapping at the Orc army and snatching them away, tossing them off cliffs and into sharp spears of rock.

 

Victory, but at a great price. You ran through the remains of the city of Dale, more crumbled than ever, searching for your king and companion. You heard his voice, turned a corner just in time to pass Legolas. Your young friend, who you watched grow up and helped raise, looked tired, older than what he did three moons ago. He glanced at you, bowed his head. You returned the gesture, sensing that you would not be seeing him for a long time. Then you wrapped him in a swift hug, a hug that he returned, stepped back and continued on your seperate ways without a word.

 

The Elvenking stood statue-still amidst the ruins, staring at something only he could see. You approached him carefully, but he did not turn. Then, he spoke, a welcome sound from the screams and howls of war. His velvet tone was a relief, for when you could not see him in battle, you feared the worst- that your lifelong friend was no more, never again to accompany you.

"The King under the Mountain is dead. Thorin is no more, and neither are his heirs, the Dwarves Fili and Kili. Killed by Azog and his minions." He finally turned to you, and it was as if a great weight was lifted from his shoulders, his eyes lighter with gain yet also darker with loss.

"But Azog is dead, shall trouble our people no more. Without him to command them, his remaining army is in shambles. Finally, we are free from that foul beast, and the Dark Lord has been banished, sent far away by the Lady Galadriel." He smiled then, a genuine smile of joy, but also sorrow, of much to come, but also much that would never.

You beamed back at him, celebrating in the removal of a burden you never knew you had. As you embraced your friend in the ruins of the city of Dale, city in the shadows of the gates of the great kingdom of Erebor, finally free from all that is foul and evil, you felt happier than you had in many a year. And that night in the ruins of a once great city, the ghosts of the moonlight were freed, never again to haunt the fallen halls.

 

* * *

 

 

100 yrs later

 

"Hurry up, Elvenking!" A cheerful voice, one of teasing and merriment, rang out through the trees of Mirkwood. A deeper voice answered, equally as joyful.

"I am coming, Y/N. But it is most difficult when you are riding one if the fastest horses in our stables." A pure black horse burst through the trees, an Elf astride her. Long hair flowed in the wind, sparkling eyes gleaming with excitement. The she-elf easily jumped her horse over a swift flowing creek, laughing as another steed followed after from the trees. Astride this horse sat a tall Elf, his long pale hair braided back, brilliant blue eyes shining with laughter as he chased after his companion. For the first time in many years, both the Elvenking and his Captain, his best friend, felt truely free. And, as they chased one another through the forest in a sudden fit of mischief and merriment, so did the rest of their people, from a fair haired Elvenprince, riding far from his home with his Dùnedain companion, sharing tales by fireside and mountainside, to a small gathering of Elves far in the opposite direction, with a dark-haired healer and a fair-haired Lady, accompanied by their friend, of the Istari, one of grey robes with twinkling eyes and a tale to tell. A tale to last a thousand lifetimes, and perhaps more than that- a very strange tale indeed, one that was not yet finished...


End file.
